


Spare Him His Life From This Monstrosity *Discontinued Until Further Notice*

by Ghost_Stories



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Based on, Basically, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Bottom Louis, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Dark Harry, Emotional Manipulation, Feminization, Forced Feminization, Harley Quinn Louis, Innocent Louis, Intern Louis, Louis in Panties, Louis is a blonde, Louis works in a asylum, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Older Harry, One Direction Are A Squad Of Villians, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Possessive Harry, Possessive Sex, Power Bottom Louis, Power Play, Public Blow Jobs, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Suicide Squad AU, Supervillian Harry, Supervillian Louis, The Joker Harry, Tiny Louis, Top Harry, Violence, Younger Louis, bit of, only for a bit, suicide squad, this is basically a fic about supervillians, what is even that tag??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_Stories/pseuds/Ghost_Stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>  “What the actual fuck are you doing?” is what is questioned as Louis leans downwards; clutching the bat he’d just used to smash through the windows of a local boutique.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Within the first few seconds, the statement is thoroughly ignored. He’s much too busy inspecting the back, folding the straps over his shoulder and nearly moaning at how the fine leather felt against his dirtied skin. It almost seemed too good to be true.</i></p><p>  <i>It’s clear that the entire group had halted at the sound of Louis’ thievery. He can’t help but allow it to annoy him to his very core, turning on his heels.</i></p><p>  <i>He says, “My Puddin’ will just adore this bag. Don’t you think?” <i></i></i></p><p>A reincarnation of my previous fanfiction <i> “Are You Wild Like Me?”<i> with a new plot, but the same roles as the previous story.</i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Character Roles:
> 
> Louis - Harley Quinn  
> Harry - The Joker  
> Niall - Deadshot  
> Zayn - El Diablo  
> Eleanor - Enchantress  
> Liam - Captain Boomerang  
> Greg - Rick Flag  
> Nick - Amanda Waller
> 
> (More characters will be added. I'm aware that some characters don't carry out the same motions that their actual film copy had, but it's my fic, and I chose to make it like this.)
> 
> Title from Queen's iconic "Bohemian Rhapsody".
> 
> **January, 23; 12:53 AM ******
> 
> **  
> **  
> **So, this is a reincarnation of "Are You Wild Like Me?". Like I've said, it's still Suicide Squad, still the characters as they previously were going to be. But, after viewing the latest trailer for Suicide Squad, I realize that the track that I was going on would have proved to make the story too much backstory, and not enough action, which was the opposite of what I wanted.**  
>  **  
> **  
>  **There, of course, will still be an essence of a backstory for each of the characters (but mostly for Louis and Harry's relationship). This story is a way to get to know each of characters, though the main plot is the build-up between Louis and Harry, or, Harley and The Joker. So, I'm sorry if you were looking forward to the plot I'd started with that last story, and I truly do apologize. I just feel more comfortable for this version.**  
>     
>  **  
> **  
>  **This story was supposed to be Suicide Squad, and that's what I'm going to make it. I've still got the original story saved to my Wattpad account, where I'll be posting it shortly for all the people who cared for the plot better.**  
>     
>  **  
> **  
>   
>   
> **  
> **  
> **Just a forewarning, this entire first chapter is written in the P.O.V.'s of our main characters. This won't be like this for the entire story, only the introduction. As I've said, this is solely about Louis' reign, and his relationship with Harry.**  
> 

_That’s how it starts. The fever, the rage. The feeling of powerlessness that turns good men cruel._

 ***

_Liam_

I have absolutely no _fucking_ idea what I’m doing out here.

I’m sure I should be somewhat grateful for that one, crucial fact that, finally, alike to all the other prisoners in the correctional facility that I am trapped in, I’m being allowed outside. The issue is that I’m not. It’s so rare for me to be allowed outside of my cell for a piss, so it’s a _bit_ suspicious that I’m being permitted time in the dusty grounds a few feet from the familiar building. 

And, sure. There’s guards carrying heavy, dangerous guns and various weapons as far as the eye can see, but I’m sure that’s just the requirement for anyone authorized outside. Again, I wouldn’t know. This is the first time I’ve felt the sun’s rays against my skin since the day I’d been thrown inside.

Adding to my uncertainty, it wasn’t the designated time in which the other occupants would have their recreational time. Though I wasn’t positive what time it was, the rising of the sun in my peripheral vision and the drowsiness within my eyes is enough to inform me that happened to be very early in the morning.

Yet, despite this fact, I wasn’t the only prisoner who’d been forced outside. Surrounding me were three others, all men, except for one, whom I wasn’t quite sure what gender they took to. They all seemed alike to me; dressed in the same, orange jumpsuit combination, with a sleepy expression amongst their worn faces that suggested they hadn’t been expecting to be pulled from their cells (except for one, who seemed as vibrant and as excitable as a child on Christmas morning).

They didn’t seem the least bit accustomed to my knowing. But, I couldn’t rely on this information, seeing as I hadn’t been out of my cell for at least a year. Possibly two. I’ve stopped counting.

I’m seconds away from questioning what _exactly_ was occurring when I’m interrupted by the sound of footsteps against the dry landscape before being shoved aside by aggressive, swift bodies. I’m nearly knocked to the ground, but am able to catch myself on the arm of a nearby guard. Immediately, I’m knocked away from the man’s figure.

Looking ahead, I’m able to make out the squirming material of a body-bag. The men who had previously been carrying the object toss it against the hardened ground, and it falls with a rough _oof._ The consistent slithering only halts for a moment before it’s continuing rapidly, almost like it’s trying to escape.

There’s a stillness that settles throughout the group. Then, one of the guards in which had brought the bag in leaned downwards; quickling unzipping the fabric. I shouldn’t be surprised whenever a man  – broad-shouldered and obviously infuriated – leaps from the ground. I am, however, stunned when he stumbles forward, setting his sights amongst the first person in his vision and slamming his fist into the guard’s face. The other is knocked to the ground from the intensity of the punch, and, quickly, there’s keepers grabbing the man backward.

The genderless fellow – another with a deranged grin, spheric eyes, and pallid, porcelain skin – begins to giggle into the palm of their hand at the sight. It’s obvious that the man who’d been thrown once more to the ground sees this; as he’s attempting to break free from his bone-splitting hold and send another throw towards the other’s pretty face.

The man growls, “Let me _go!”_

The guards don’t seem to listen.

It’s all quite a messy scene. Between the angered man struggling, the group eagerly awaiting to see if he’d get free, and the other’s laughter growing with each passing seconds, it’s all quite confusing. I’m fascinated by it, though. It’s the first time in awhile that I’ve been entertained by something other than a flashing red light that signalled the attempted escape of another prisoner of whom I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing.

Unfortunately, it’s all interrupted by the sound of one of the guards blowing a whistle; one that’s obnoxious and painful to the eardrums. The chaos suddenly stops, and the other’s giggles are diminishing into breathy gasps, as they were obviously startled by the noise. The man halts his struggling, going limp into the guards’ hold. It’s clear that he’s still pissed.

If I had thought we would have gotten an explanation after that, I was surely disappointed. We’re only enveloped in the stiffening silence that had overtaken us earlier. The heavy breathing coming from both the man and the guard in which held him back seemed louder than anything I’d ever heard.

Then, the pale-skinned other is stepping forward. They seems utterly familiar now that they’re in the newfound sunlight; with white-blond hair, and a few tattoos scattering the flesh of their face. The same unsettling smile settled across their lips.

They exclaims, “ _Hi, boys!_ ” with a flourish of their hands.

It’s all quite confusing.

 

_Zayn_

The sound of his voice happened to be the most fucking _irritating_ thing I’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing. It’s disgustingly high-pitched, and accented with the traces of somewhere settled deep within New York. At his words, the need to wrap my fingers around the column of his throat grows.

No one responds to his greeting, but that doesn’t seem to bother him. As a growl escapes me, I look over to catch the eye of another – a man with a frightened expression amongst his face; making it obvious that he belonged nowhere in the midst of _us._

The struggle that I’m making isn’t helping anything, as the guards’ hold is rather strong. I’m forced to settle, glaring up at the blond-headed idiot that happened to be bouncing across the soil. I absolutely _loathe_ him. He’s one of the sole reasons why I’d been thrown into the facility in the first place. I couldn’t say the same about the others, but I’m positive that he’d something to do with their capture, as well.

Upon realizing that he wasn’t going to be granted with a reply, the man of which I ache to strangle continues.

He’s groaning, “They just _had_ to throw me in with a bunch of downers, didn’t they?”

Suddenly, I just couldn’t help myself.

“There’s a difference between _downer_ and _psychotic_ Tomlinson,” I spit. As if they’re afraid that I’d try to break free once again, the grip against my arms grow tighter.

At this, both the man’s and the group’s attention had been thrown into my direction. Tomlinson’s face splits into a grin that reminded me of something I didn’t quite want to remember.

He attempts to step forward, but he’s not gotten to make it at least three steps before he’s being forced down into a lone chair that occupied the deserted area. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He only continues to give me a coquettish simper that forced my stomach to turn terribly.

Once the keeper’s grasp on his svelte limbs had loosened, Tomlinson’s head is tilting in a way that made him look nearly cherubic. Strands of his wispy, dirtied hair falls across his face. He doesn’t push them back to their original place. It only proved to make him seem furtherly unhinged.

“Psychotic is simply a three syllable word for any thought too big for little minds,” he responds in way that sounds _so_ haughty, my veins flood with hatred. “And I go by Quinn, now. _Harley_ Quinn.”

“That’s fucking gay,” another pipes up before I’m able to. I hadn’t noticed him before. He’s got filthy brunette hair, and facial scruff that desperately required a trim.

Tomlinson – or Quinn, as he’d put it – blinks over at the man. A pout is settling against his lips. Then, as if it’d never been there, he’s grinning brightly.

He sighs, “ _I’m_ gay, darlin’. Why’d ‘ya think I looked like this?”

The man with the terrified expression seemed as if he’d just gotten a revelation.

Brownie shrugs, saying, “‘Cause you’re crazy. I’ve heard about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” Quinn was smiling back.

It looks as if Brownie was contemplating whether or not he’d respond back the other’s words, but ultimately decides against it. The guards’ grips had gone loose around my arms, and upon this, I fall to my knees against the soil. My bones shriek out in pain.

If he _was_ going to say anything, however, he wouldn’t have had the chance to, as Quinn was starting back up another round of laughter, though, this time, it wasn’t as obnoxious as it’d been before. He pulls his infinitesimal body down from his designated chair. I don’t miss how the men encasing us raise their guns, waiting for the moment that Quinn would make a sudden, deadly movement that they’d have to halt.

Fortunately, this moment never comes. The giggling is stopped with one, simple intake of air. The man looks around the group; all until his eyes land upon me. He doesn’t step forward. He wouldn’t dare to. His face becomes solemn.

Then, he’s gasping, “What was that? You want me to kill everyone and escape?”

I swear I hear the guards’ guns click back in warning.

Before they could shoot, though, Quinn is bursting out into another one of his fits. He’s waving his arm, as if pushing away the untold, misinterpreted joke.

“It’s the voices,” he informs us. The weapons still don’t move from their position. He’s flapping his hand once again. “I'm just kidding. That’s not what they really said.”

 

_Niall_

I don’t know how in the _hell_ I’d gotten mixed up between a prison and the looney bin. But, somehow I’d gotten here; seeing as I’ve been thrown into a pot that contained a lad with enough fury to take down a small army, another who couldn’t keep his eyes focused one thing for more than a few seconds, and lastly, a man who was just plain _insane._

I’d been woken up at the crack of dawn, and a small part of me was somewhat excitedly for what was possibly to come. I had never been taken out of my cell, let alone released into the world of the outside. The results that I’d gotten were terribly disappointing.

After the demented man’s words, I’m not quite sure on what else to say. He was small, undefined enough to point where I’d be able to take him. But, psychologically, I wouldn’t be able the gather up the courage needed to even attempt this. I’ve taken down a lot of people in my time, but none had been quite as intimidating as one who hadn’t quite bypassed the height of 5’3.

The other in which had attempted attacking him was simply staring at him, pondering whether he should just let it go or throttle him, I reckon. If his decision happened to be the latter, I was certain that he’d be thrown back in his cell for good. I’m positive that the guards were tired of chasing him down each time he couldn’t quite control himself.

I’m forced to pull my attention away from the two, though, as I feel a tap against my clothed shoulder. I’m startled, instantaneously put on my defensive. All until, of course, I see another who happened to be dressed in the same uniform I’d been put into.

He whispers, “Why are we here?”

His breath smells of tobacco. My mind drifts off; wondering where he could have possibly gotten his hands on the likes.

I, of course, have no clue. Nothing had been explained since I’d been thrown into the field with the other men. I was just a sitting duck, awaiting until someone _finally_ decided they’d tell us what exactly occurring.

Fortunately, I’m not forced into waiting much longer. A staticky voice catches the attention of us all. We immediately turn towards the guard in whose radio had begun to crackle to life. Quinn squeals in exhilaration, beginning to bounce on his heels.

Then, distantly, I hear, “ _Jackson? I’m going to call off the names of all who should be standing in front of you, okay?”_

“Yes, Sir,” Jackson retorts.

“ _Malik. Payne. James. Tomlinson,”_ the voice’s words were interrupted by Quinn’s exclamation of “ _it’s Quinn”._ They continue as if they hadn’t heard it (I don’t believe they had). “ _It should be concluded with Horan. If there’s anyone extra, send them away right now.”_

Jackson turns towards the group. He counts off each, eyes lingering upon me for only a moment. Then, he’s turning back to his radio.

He says, “We’ve got them all, Sir. No extras.”

_“Can they all hear me?”_

The guard nods. I’m filled with the need to understand what was happening. I find myself not wanting to be a part of anything that was going to occur. The group that I am with is an utter _mess._ I’d be a fool to insert myself into any equation that included them.

I realize that there’s nothing I can do. If I had attempted to make any motions back to the prison, I’m sure I’d be struck down before I could even make it a few inches from where they had us set up. I’m here against my own will.

Once it’s confirmed that the voice is broadcasting loud and clear, it says, “ _Okay. This is the deal. You’re going somewhere very bad_ –”

“Whoa, _what?_ ” the man who seemed to most sane questioned; eyes going wide.

“– _To do something that’ll get you killed,”_ it continues, ignoring the man’s concerns. “ _Any objections?”_

The groups explodes within seconds.

 

_Louis_

The boost of enlivenment that I’m filled with makes me shudder. I haven’t been allowed out in _so_ long.

The group that I’ve been assigned to isn’t my ideal pick. To me, they look incredibly lame, and incapable of the simplest of tasks. But, I’d gladly take them if it meant my release of this _fucking hell-hole._ Death wasn’t even a worrying factor for me. The feeling of energy that I’m getting is nearly orgasmic.

My baby had written me about this; he’d told me that I’d be out soon enough, and as soon as I was, he’d be coming to save me, like he always did. It wasn’t his fault that I’d landed myself in prison, but my own. And now that I was being given clearance, I didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d be coming back to allow me to join him in his work – like the stupefying duo we’d been before I’d gotten locked up.

  
God, I can’t _fucking_ wait. This was going to be _great._


	2. II.

 

He’s deafened.

There’s water billowing into his ears, bubbling in-between his lips whilst he observed the scenic views beneath the liquid exposed to him. He feels his flesh begin to become numb from the frigid temperature, feigning his shivers before it’s gotten to be too much; forcing up to resurface.

There’s water tangling his lashes, halting him from a clear sight whenever his eyes opened. His fingers push the lengthy, dampened hair away from where it’d stuck to his forehead. As he’s doing so, he’s granted with the sounds of a surprised noise of unexpectation. He doesn’t attempt to hide the snicker that crawls up and out of his throat.

“ _ What  _ are you doing?” Greg exclaims. He’s quick to fold his fingers over his eyes, stopping himself from viewing the distorted vision of Louis’ naked body through the pool’s waves.

Louis is quick to roll his eyes. Though he’s been explained that the other men’s situations had been the same as his, forced to spend their sentence in the confined space of a disclosed section of the prison, he’s almost positive that it couldn’t have been the first time that Greg had seen another man in the nude. Louis takes pride in the state of his body. He thinks that it’s got a certain odd aspect to it that other males wouldn’t enjoy; minuscule and effeminate.

For a moment, he ponders over the option of possibly giving Greg what he so  _ obviously  _ wanted, for him to cover himself up with the towel he’d brought outside with him. Ultimately, he figures that if it bothered the man enough, he’d simply leave and pretend the interaction had never occurred.

He begins to swipe his fingers through the water’s ripples, enjoying the moonlight’s reflection amongst it. It’s most likely the most interesting thing he’s seen during the duration of time since he’d been released.

Finally, he says, “Observing.”

It seems as if Greg wants to question just  _ what  _ he was observing, but ultimately, decides against it. Finally, he breaks his modesty, pulling his fingertips away from where they happened to be effectively blocking his eyesight. 

They’re both silent for a moment, and the only thing that’s heard is the distant noises of Louis swishing his legs beneath the water. The smaller man begins to nibble on his lower lip, glancing up at Greg beneath the waterlogged tangles of his eyelashes. 

He’s a rather handsome man, without a doubt. It’s obvious that he’s older, perhaps in his earlier thirties. There’s scruff dotted around his angular jaw, and his skin was tanned into a colour that Louis envied; as it was something that he once carried himself. The way he’s standing forces his muscular build to reveal itself. 

“You got a girl, Mister James?” Louis questions breathily.

It doesn’t take Greg much too long to catch on to what he was implying. In fact, it takes him quicker than Louis had been expecting. 

Greg says, “You’ve got a guy.”

“Your point?” the other questions, rolling his eyes.

“My point,” Greg hisses, “is that you’re crazy, and your boyfriend’s even crazier. I’m not going to get myself killed for a quick fuck.”

Louis instantaneously finds this funny. He hadn’t known that his and his lover’s situation had been so well-known, though he’s quite pleased to hear. He can’t help it whenever an unprecedented shriek of a giggle comes from within the depths of his him. He’s quick to fold his hands over his mouth; only laughing harder whenever he catches sight of the man’s disgusted look.

Whether it was due to the fact that he was being plainly ridiculed, or that he clearly hadn’t wanted to be in the same area of Louis in the first place didn’t matter. What did was that after hearing Louis’ obnoxious laughter, he’s turning on his heels and starting towards the place he’d first entered. Louis really, truly isn’t able to contain himself.

Through his tear-soaked cackling, Louis is able to call out, “Wait, baby! I was just foolin’.”

He’s still laughing when the rooftop’s door slams shut, signaling Greg’s exit.

 

***

 

“Y’know,” Malik begins once Louis walks into the room he’d occupied, “I think seeing you naked might be illegal.”

A small section of Louis fills with pride. The towel he had brought out for his body was being used for the wettened tresses of his hair, tied up into a complicated knot to stop it from falling. This, of course, left him nude, revealing his body to the oblivious household’s patrons.

Though he’s more than aware of Malik’s blatant hatred for him, as well as each and every single thing that he could have possibly stood for, Louis allows himself wallow in the pride he’d gotten from the man’s comment.

He says, “Really? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” Malik responds, snorting. “It might be illegal because you’ve got the body of a child. It’s unsettling.”

Immediately, Louis’ soaring emotions had diminished. A scowl contorts his face, and he’s merely moments away from knocking the man so hard, he’d be sure to see stars afterwards. He realizes, though, that he doesn’t want to give Malik the satisfaction of knowing that he had managed to get to him.

So, with this in mind, the frown disappears into nothing, and he’s only shrugging his malnourished shoulders. The racing of his heartbeat doesn’t slow as he starts towards the shared closet that belonged to the owner of the home, pondering quietly what it could possibly carry whilst he tried to calm himself down. He’s always been told that he needed to work on his control, his temper. He thinks that it’s a good idea, if only at certain times.

It isn’t that hard to keep his facade, though, as when he turns, he’s met with the sight of Malik’s eye swiftly traveling up from  _ somewhere.  _ It wouldn’t have taken a genius to realize what he’d been staring at. With this, Louis can’t help but chuckle softly.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to him when he’s instantaneously met with a gruff, “What’s funny?”. That bastard Zayn could hear anything.

He only shrugs. Upon understanding that his body was being appreciated by yet another person, he’s much more confident with his next statement.

“You starin’ at my ass,” he smirks, glancing over at Malik over his shoulder.

“And how do you know that I was lookin’ at your ass?” the man answers. “The carpet pattern is interesting enough.”

With this, Louis turns back and gives a subtle wriggle of his hips. “Because who wouldn’t? It’s  _ awesome. _ ”

That, of course, isn’t granted with a response. Louis hadn’t been expecting one. 

After allowing a few more seconds to bypass, he reaches upwards to unravel the towel from his head. It lands on the floor in a messy heap, pooling around his feet once it has fallen. His hair still isn’t completely dry, but is no longer dripping water down the dip of his back. He’s grateful for this, as it’d become irritating as time passed by.

He’s able to catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror propped nearby the closet’s entrance. He isn’t startled much at his appearance, as he’d been preparing himself for the lifeless, tired-eyed lad that would be released from the prison’s confinements whenever the time came. He is, however, astonished at how erratic, as well as jittery his motions happened to be without his noticing. If he cared enough, he’d worry.

Running his fingers through the tangles of his hair, Louis allows the strands to fall haphazardly onto his forehead after he’s finished. A huff of breath leaves him once he’s finished. During his seconds of silence, he’s distracted by the sight of the tattoos scattered across the flesh of his pallid thighs. He grins; the one placed just above the jut of his hipbones was his favourite.

“God, you’re tacky,” Malik groans behind him. Louis remembers that he’s always had a knack for ruining a moment.

“And you’re a pessimist,” Louis retorts, turning with a sneer. “Yet you wonder why you don’t have any broads knocking at your door.”

Louis isn’t quite sure what it is, but something about his sentence must rub Malik the wrong way. He doesn’t miss the way the man’s expression whipped into the one of utter infuriation that he’d witnessed only a day ago.

He isn’t at all terrified once Malik stands from where he’d been sitting, stalking closer to him. The scowl on his face is absolutely deadly. He doesn’t stop until he’s hovering atop of Louis. He doesn’t intimidate the other one bit. In fact, Louis only grins up at him, batting his eyelashes ridiculously.

“Did I say somethin’ I ought not’ta, Daddy?” Louis questions in a sugary voice.

Malik growls, “I  _ hate  _ you.”

“ _ Oooh,  _ hate’s a strong word,” answers the other. “I do hate a lotta things, though. Mangoes, people with tramp-stamps — although I’ve got one; it looks good on  _ me,  _ and me only — anything film that’s got anything to do with Sarah Jessica Park—”

He’s interrupted by a stinging feeling that’d been left amongst the flesh of his cheek. The blow he receives is strong enough to send his lithe body to the carpeted floors. The ringing is beginning to build up within his ears. He’d been well aware that Malik didn’t care the least bit for him, they’ve had their scuffles in the past. But, this time, it felt different. It felt personal.

Tears had started to leak from Louis’ eyes, not from his pain, but from the force of the hit Malik had given him. His fingers are clasping his bruised skin, the liquid rolling down his cheeks as he did so. He can feel the anger swelling up within the depths of him; along with the lack of control that he’d tried so hard to keep underneath wraps.

He pushes himself up from the floor, refusing to meet Zayn’s eye as he did so. His hand is still clutched upon his cheek as he starts towards the closet once again, opening its doors and beginning to rummage through the messiness. He’s trying his hardest not to absolutely flip out. He wouldn’t allow for Malik to see that side of him. Not yet, at least.

At least, Louis is gripping onto a shirt that seemed at least three sizes too big for his frame. It’s terribly designed, but it’ll have to do for now. Carefully, he pushes the barriers back to their original position. As he turns back, he finally catches the gaze of the other man.

He doesn’t hesitate before he’s stepping far into Malik’s space. The smile that had developed onto his face seemed nearly as deranged as the spacey expression that was swimming within his iris’.

“I’ve learned a lot from being with my Puddin’,” he whispers, staring up at the man beneath the wispy pieces of his hair, “and you know what I’ve decided? No one  _ ever  _ gets to lay a hand on me  _ again. _ ”

Zayn doesn’t seem at all apologetic. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable by Louis’ crazed mannerism, either. It’s rather impressive.

Louis continues, “You’re gonna regret this. And the next time you even  _ think  _ about hurting me, I’ll kill you before whatever we’re doing gets the chance to. I’ll fucking  _ kill you. _ ”

Then, he’s whirling around and walking off. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay...how was it?
> 
> I hope you got the references that played into the trailer that was just put out. I've tried my hardest to make Louis as Harley Quinn-esque as possible, and I hope I did a good job of this.
> 
> Remember, there still will be backstory. Our story is just starting off here. Again, I'm sorry if you didn't care for it. But, I feel more comfortable and more motivated while writing this version. 
> 
> THIS STORY WILL NOT STAY IN FIRST-PERSON. THIS IS ONLY THE INTRODUCTION.
> 
> Also, if you got the Batman v. Superman reference, I fucking love you. You are amazing. (And so is everyone else who's read this. You're awesome too).
> 
> Kudos, comments, bookmarks. Expect this to be updated shortly.
> 
> All the love, Lou. xx


End file.
